


I'm So Cold Without You

by LainellaFay



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:46:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LainellaFay/pseuds/LainellaFay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letters from Legolas stop arriving in his letter box every Monday morning. Frightened and anxious, Thranduil searches for him in Siberia.</p>
<p>  <i>One Monday morning arrives and Thranduil sorts through the mail. His heart lurches into his throat and his stomach twists upon itself. Hands shaking, he dumps the pile onto the dining table and savagely claws through them, only to drop to his knees in misery.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm So Cold Without You

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the prompt on tumblr by Anonymous:
> 
> _“Into the wild” AU with Thranduil (born 1964) as a very open minded (but it doesn’t seem so) university teacher and his student/lover Legolas (born 1970) that starts a travel in 1990. Thranduil is heartbroken but lets him go, Legolas sents him some letters then stops when he reaches Siberia (they live in England). Thranduil is worried sick and goes to search him, gets lost but is found by Legolas that saves him. I'd like to see some sex before departure or after they reunite but it is up to u_
> 
> Many special thanks to the totally awesome [NightHerald](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightHerald) for all the advice and feedback she gave me, and for beta'ing! I couldn't have done this without her.

.

.

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The day Legolas tells him about his decision to leave is the day Thranduil’s world is ripped of colours. Everything is dull to his eyes—the tulips leaning limply against the edges of their vase, even the family’s treasured million dollar art piece has lost its wondrous sparkle.

“Where will you go?” he asks, voice trembling as he cries internally, pleading so very desperately for his younger lover to retract his words.

Legolas shakes his head. He rests a palm against the cool surface of the window pane overlooking the busy street below. “I do not yet know. Nowhere. Everywhere.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I have to do this, Thranduil.”

“ _Why_?” Thranduil’s voice cracks on the syllable. He goes to stand beside Legolas and gently holds the hand that lies by his side into his own. His thumb traces small circles on the back of Legolas’ hand and the twenty-year-old shivers. “You’ll be graduating in a year. Mirkwood’s offer won’t last any longer than that, you know it. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity, Legolas. And, and I….I’m…” he breaks off, unable to continue, but the words hang in the air anyway, loud and clear enough for both to hear: _I’m here._

“I know. I know I am, and that’s precisely my point, Thranduil. Do you not see?” Legolas turns to face him. “My path is laid out before me with falling cherry blossoms and maple leaves—so alluring and beautiful to others, but to _me_ ,” Legolas’ breaths get heavier and deeper as he speaks, “to _me_ , I only see a chain dragging me down. I need time to think. To get away from everything. I have to reflect on my choices. Biological genetics, is that really _me_?”

Thranduil is shocked speechless. All these years, all these _years_ , and he had never realised the struggles that went on in his lover’s head. Heavens, what else has he been missing? He feels shame and guilt rising within him, and he casts his eyes down. “I’m sorry. I did—I did not notice. I will see myself out—“ 

“No, no, Thranduil.” Hands grab onto the fabric of his shirt and forces him to a halt. He doesn’t turn, he _can’t_. “It pains me to think of leaving you. It truly does. But it’s just—you’re so…close.”

Thranduil cannot help but wonder whether Legolas is referring to his relations with the university or of his involvement with Legolas’ career path. No matter which, his presence obviously sent Legolas’ mind into turmoil.

“I understand.”

Legolas’ grip on his clothing loosens. “Do you?”

“I do,” he confirms. Mind made up, he spins on his heel to cup Legolas’ cheeks with his hands. He stares right into sharp blue eyes, hoping to transfer all of his feelings and emotions to the younger man. “You will go, and I will be here for you. No matter how long, I will be here. My heart will never feel complete, it will ache, and I will be right here waiting for you to return, to come back to me.”

Legolas’ eyes probe him, and his hands rise to cover the back of Thranduil’s hands, holding tightly. Blue eyes shimmer with pure affection and Thranduil commits them to memory, knowing they will be what he will hold onto during the days he feels so, _so alone_.

“Thank you,” Legolas whispers. “I lo—“

Thranduil covers his lips with his own, cutting off the words that need not be said. They can feel them in every touch, every kiss, and every gaze upon the other.

 

-

 

Mondays bring a small part of his heart in the form of a letter.

Thranduil reads them for hours, no matter how long or short the letters are; he sits in the armchair before the crackling fireplace, reading over and over again until he can recite every word, every punctuation by heart.

During the lonely nights, he sleeps with them spread out on Legolas’ side of the bed and imagines that they are him, with the soothing scent of forest leaves lingering on the sheets of paper. They carry him through the nights—barely, just barely.

 

-

 

One Monday morning arrives and Thranduil sorts through the mail. His heart lurches into his throat and his stomach twists upon itself. Hands shaking, he dumps the pile onto the dining table and savagely claws through them, only to drop to his knees in misery.

_It’s probably still on the way_ , he hopes, staggering towards the shower. _It is not what you think. It is not. On the way. On the way_.

 

-

 

Sleepless nights and agonising days continue.

His concentration suffers and even the dimmest of his students notice. A word to his senior and Thranduil finds himself on leave of absence. Days are harder to bear now, for he has no distractions; only four plain white walls to stare at and the cruel, little voice in his head to listen to.

He wonders where Legolas is and whether he’s thinking of him as much as he is thinking of his sweet, travelling partner.

 

-

 

A little over a month passes and still no form of contact arrives from Legolas. 

Thranduil lives on coffee—despite his utter distaste for the vile drink—and dread.

Where is Legolas? Is he safe? Is he hurt? Why hasn’t he sent any letters? A simple note to speak of his well-being would put Thranduil’s anxious mind to rest. A sentence, no, a _single word_ would do. He tries not to think about Legolas’ body, cold and still, on an unrecognisable street in the dark. 

He fails.

 

-

 

He is in the airport of an unfamiliar city before he knows it. Legolas’ last letter rests neatly folded in his breast pocket and Thranduil realises he has no idea what he had planned to do—if he had any plan to start with. He slides into an empty seat and unfolds Legolas’ letter, his eyes scanning words he’d already memorised, as if reading yet another time will magically reveal words he haven’t read before.

_Novosibirsk, Siberia, Russia_

Thranduil rubs his palm over his face. Tired eyes fall shut and Thranduil feels his body slumping against the seat. Six weeks, three days, fourteen hours ago Legolas had written to him of flying over to Siberia. Now, six weeks, three days, fourteen hours later, Thranduil finds himself sitting pathetically in the airport with the aim of finding his missing lover and no clue whether Legolas was still in Siberia or had flown off somewhere a long time ago.

It is in this very moment he wishes he owned a mobile. Then again, it didn’t matter as Legolas did not own one himself. Thranduil dryly laughs and wonders what he had done that was so wrong as to piss the world off so much.

Surely falling in love with his student cannot warrant such torment.

Thranduil blinks away the tiredness and stands. He still does not know what to do or where to go, but one step at a time, one foot in front of the other—that’s all he can do for now.

And so he does.

 

-

 

Hotels, motels, backpackers—Thranduil heads to those in reachable distance first, questioning the receptionists and ambushing incoming and outgoing guests for any, even the most minute, details on Legolas.

The first two—not a peep. Thranduil keeps his hopes up. The third two—not a peep. Thranduil finds he cannot bring himself to smile, not even politely. The sixth two—still no sign. The rain that drowns him holds no candle to the emptiness within him.

 

-

 

Thranduil catches glimpses of newspapers situated outside stores and even with his meagre knowledge of the foreign language, he can feel the growing tension in the cities of Siberia. Unemployment rates are skyrocketing; citizens are twitchy and Thranduil finds himself skirting past beggars and homeless on the streets more often than before.

He buries his hands in his pockets and keeps his head down. It wouldn’t do him—nor Legolas—any good if he were to be perceived as one of them rich Brit tourists roaming the streets by his lonesome.

His inquiring becomes more discreet, and he makes sure to speak as little as possible in order to blend in and hide his identifiable accent from the locals. His progress slows and irks Thranduil, but nevertheless, he presses on, dragging his weary feet and heavy heart behind him.

 

-

 

Seventeen days, three cities, and sixty-three accommodations later, Thranduil is still no closer to finding Legolas’ whereabouts, and his store of money he had exchanged back in England is nearly exhausted. He knows he lacks the resources to continue the search, but the hole in his heart and worry flooding his veins pushes him forwards.

He skimps, crashing in less than reputable lodges, and sleeps with one eye open, his passport down his pants, his bag under his head.

 

-

 

Thranduil witnesses a robbery in broad daylight for the first time. A scruffy haired man with an untrimmed grey beard leaps out of the broken display window with a bag of fresh meat while the butcher screams profanities in his wake. Thranduil feels a surge of jealousy as his stomach cries in hunger, but he clamps down on the horrid emotions immediately, refusing to fall down so far.

Legolas would _hate_ him.

Thranduil would _never_ forgive himself.

Still, he casts a wistful look at the red and blue lights flashing in the streets before walking in the opposite direction. Thranduil dives into his search to distract his mind from his weeping stomach. It isn’t until the sun sets that he chews on a slice of plain bread.

Yet another fruitless day.

 

-

 

Days pass, and somehow he’s not very surprised to find himself utterly lost and disoriented, with nothing but his passport, a backpack filled with ripped and dirty clothes, letters from what seems like centuries ago, and a twenty ruble note in his wallet.

There’s a fleeting thought that courses through his mind and Thranduil cannot help but laugh out loud at the irony. He’d travelled to Siberia rattled by the visions of Legolas—cold, still, _dead_ —and now finds himself not quite far from that particular fate. 

He slides down to the ground and leans against a flickering lamppost, tired from his never-ending search for Legolas. Stars shine down brightly with mocking light and Thranduil wishes he could have at least seen Legolas one more time.

“Thranduil!”

A part of him thinks he must be hearing things and wills himself not to react, for he does not know anyone in Siberia. But a larger part of him controls his body and Thranduil turns. His eyes widen and suddenly the world is a whole lot brighter—the stars are dim in comparison to the newfound light before him and Thranduil feels so very _alive_.

 

-

 

Legolas brings him to a hotel just three streets away; Thranduil wants to _laugh_ at how close he was to both his goal and loss of faith. Thranduil follows him like a leashed puppy and even from behind, Legolas is different.

Wilder. Freer. Contented.

He is ushered into a room and Legolas shuts the door behind them with a click, sliding the slip over the peephole. He leans against the door, head tossed back and pink lips slightly parted in a sigh. 

Apprehension claws at Thranduil’s stomach and he feels the urge to spew. He doesn’t. His feet glue themselves onto the boards and his eyes fix themselves on Legolas, roaming his body, absorbing the sight they have been deprived of for far too many nights. He wants to tangle his fingers in those long gold strands, wants to trail his lips up along that line of ivory skin, wants to hear that beautiful, long missed voice moan and gasp his name—he wants, he _wants_ —but Thranduil remains where he stands, hands twitching with desire at his sides.

“Why are you here?” Legolas asks. 

Thranduil opens his mouth to reply but finds that he has lost his voice somewhere, probably back in England, back in the days he woke up with Legolas by his side. He swallows and tries again. It is scratchy and rough from the silent, wrecking sobs every night before he falls asleep and recent lack of use. “I was worried. You’d stopped sending letters and I was so, so _bloody_ _scared_.”

Legolas stares at him with eyes widened in shock. “You—you came to find me?”

“I couldn’t stay home not knowing whether you still breathed!”

Legolas rubs a hand over his face and holds the other out, palm towards Thranduil. Golden hair sweeps across slender shoulders as he shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Do you…do you not intend to return?” Thranduil speaks in a muted tone, his eyes going wide and he’s trembling with fear and sorrow.

“No!” Legolas says loudly, and the expression on his face as he stares at Thranduil makes him want to swallow himself whole. “How could—how can you think that? Of _course_ I will return. How can I not? How can I not, when you told me you’ll be waiting for me back home? How could you think I’d do anything else but that?”

“Then _why_?” 

“Why _what_?”

“Why did you stop sending letters?”

“I never did. I don’t understand. I’ve been sending them, every week.” Legolas thrusts his arms forwards and Thranduil turns numbly. Sitting on the desk by the window, blank sheets of paper lie scattered across the wood and Thranduil spies the edges of envelopes peaking from beneath.

Thranduil reaches into his pocket and pulls out the last letter he received from Legolas. He holds it out before him and says, “This was the last one. After that…none came.”

Legolas bites his lips. Retrieving the letter from Thranduil, he unfolds it whilst holding eye contact. Thranduil watches as Legolas briefly scans the page. He watches closely as understanding dawns upon his lover’s face and before he knows it, Thranduil finds himself with an armful of Legolas. His body trembles as he lets out a sigh of relief, breathing in the earthy scent of Legolas, and he can hardly believe he’d managed to survive these past months without him.

Legolas had been curt in his letter—rushed, words resembling chicken scratch, very unlike the neat and tidy handwriting Thranduil always associated with his lover. Just a few sentences stating his hurry to check out of the hotel room, his next planned destination, and, as if it were a second thought, a tiny _‘Love you’_ scribbled at the bottom of the page. Two small words that did nothing to sooth Thranduil’s inner nagging fears.

With Legolas in his arms, pressed up against his body, Thranduil ejects all thoughts and gives in to desire. All those days and nights of deprivation—no more.

“I’m not letting you go,” Thranduil murmurs into Legolas’ ear. He scrapes his teeth gently against the sensitive earlobe, eliciting a moan from Legolas. “Next time you go on an adventure, I’m bloody going with you.”

 

-

 

Five sealed envelopes sit innocently in his letterbox upon their return.

Thranduil turns them over in one hand while the other squeezes Legolas’ gently. He releases a light chuckle and tosses them onto the grass. Thranduil frames Legolas’ face with his hands and rests his forehead against his lover’s. They gaze at each other lovingly and Thranduil knows two things for certain. 

They are okay.

Legolas is home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> References:  
> [Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economic_history_of_the_Russian_Federation) \- on Siberian economy in the 1990s.


End file.
